Fated or Arson and Associates
by BrightEyes2
Summary: T-Bird's story of how he came to Detroit, and his recruitment by Top Dollar. I'd say this is a good ten to fifteen years prior to Top Dollar's hay day, and the Eric Draven incident. Fire it up!!! Cheers, everyone!


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Fated or **Arson and Associates **

It was the cops that first brought T~Bird to this god forsaken motor city. They had found him out on a dusty country road, out in what he had thought was the middle of nowhere, at night, of course, trying to burn up a quaint little white house. He hadn't even thought about whether anyone was home or not…or that the nice old lady might come out of the shadows, armed with an aluminum bat. One good hit on the head, he hadn't even seen it coming. _Old bitch._ _Now why in Hell did she have to go and do that?_

That wonderfully pristine picket fence, and well tended green garden had shown out like a beacon for T~Bird, in the flashes of heat lightening that broke the sullen night, every color magically clear, a message. The image of it in his mind had flashed so suddenly, like a thousand other times. This perfect home, this quiet little retreat from the really real world was beautiful, but could be even more beautiful if wreathed in flame. Engulfed and ensnared in golden tongues that would lick and lick until there was nothing left but gritty gray ash. It wasn't like T~Bird could help himself, he just saw it, in his mind's eye, and he would be stricken with this insatiable thirst to make himself a place where, for a time, he could look into the hoard of orange-red demons, leaping for his delight and amusement. It was a blessed existence he had, roaming free in his red Thunder Bird until it hit, like someone punching him in the stomach, leaving him breathless. And then something just had to be _done_. 

But now, he sat, moping about what could have been like a goddamned dog, with only the crudest assembly of the petty scum of the universe to keep him company. A couple of guys had eyed him earlier, pretty boys obviously looking to have a little fun, but strong. He had deterred them…all he needed to do was look at some of these and they would back off. "Try it", he had said as they approached him. He felt robbed, cheated, he should have been allowed to torch that house _dammit._ He sat pondering this for a moment, and then moved to the corner made by the cell bars, and the dingy, off white wall, doubling his knees against his chest, and making himself as small as possible. He laid his head back on the bars, closing his eyes dreamily. _In Detroit of all places. What is the world fucking coming to? If I can just make it through tonight…PLEASE. If they pull my record, see how many times I've been brought in on the same thing…and when they open up the ol' car caboose…Just don't think about it_, was the answer that came to his mind. He opened his eyes and surveyed the large cell. The stainless steal toilet…_I think I would rather piss and shit on the floor. Fucking whores. _He gazed curiously at his companions. Two of your basic druggies, one who looked like he didn't know where the Hell he was, one drunkard, and another bunch of guys, all bulging muscles, a very imposing group, that sat huddled in the corner opposite him. T-bird looked away. _Fucking whores, thank God this is such a big cell. Burn you bastards if I ever sees you again. (But before they could seize me?) _

Beyond the cell was the desk, where they had, somewhat forcefully, booked him. T-Bird could feel the bruise forming on his arm. The top of the booking desk was the same dingy white as the rest of the room, the sides a metallic gray, and two bored-looking guards sat there, sipping cold coffee and eating stale donuts. 

T~Bird made himself even smaller in his little corner of the cell, and attempted a sort of half sleep. He chuckled softly to himself: _It was a good thing you lazy curs didn't find my boot knife. If one of these boys were to start a fight would you do your jobs like good little civil servants, or start placing bets? Torch you, _was his universal curse and blessing. The only reply to his musings were the rumblings of a storm brewing outside. T-Bird sat, and eyed his companions still more. The clouds began to growl so loudly that they were audible through the cinderblock-enforced walls of the jail. The following flash of lightening's effect muted by harsh white of florescent lights. T-Bird didn't like florescent lights much. Thunder boomed again, and the skies opened, bleeding sulfurous rain down on the city. _Well, now somebody's gone and slit ol' Zeus' wrist. Tragic. Just tragic. I'll light a candle for you later. Or maybe a building…_

A lieutenant walked in from the rain, newspaper over his head sadly ineffective against the warring of the elements. He was soaking wet. The lieutenant, as green as any ever seen in the military, walked up to the desk where the other two officers sat, leaning against the sterile surface. 

"All good here, guys? No trouble?" He asked in a mildly pubescent voice.

"Bored shitless. You on night duty? " Answered the guard sitting on his right, eldest of the two behind the desk. Plump and head shining baldly. 

The lieutenant smiled, "Yep. Just came over from the facilities on Devonshire Avenue."

"Ah. Second only to Hell itself, and of course this shithole ", _so the swine speaks the truth, _thought T-Bird.

"Another disturbance at _the Pi--"_

"Boy, didn't they issue you a coat? " 

The smile faded, "Erm…Yeah…uh.." Even T-Bird could see the kid turn pale. 

The other officer smiled with false benevolence, " You gonna take that from a _sergeant?"_ T-Bird grinned. Of course he would.

"Wel-I-uh-mmn… " 

Before the kid could answer, the glass doors to the county overnight detention center burst inward. A sopping grey law enforcement-style raincoat covered an at first indistinct form, moving indoors fast. Lightening silhouetted the figure, its head unseen under that coat, and thunder cracked as the doors swung shut. Slowing to a more deliberate pace, the muffled clip-clop of well-worn leather boots now audible, the figure moved towards the booking desk, while attempting to extricate itself from the long, and very wet, coat. The kid lieutenant now looked stricken. While walking, and after a few more fumbling maneuvers, the coat was swept off. 

A man a little older than T-Bird, hair dark brown and impossibly long walked up to the desk, coat hanging over one arm. The sopping wet coat was flung at the lieutenant with such force that he was pushed off balance and backward into a nearby chair. T-Bird couldn't see the man's face, but what caught his eye was a sword. A Samurai sword in a sleek white sheath-to match the clothing, presumably- strapped around his torso and on to his back. He appeared to be perfectly dry. 

T-Bird watched the officers with increasing interest. They were frozen; all of the boredom and apathy gone from their faces. Replaced with fear and awe. They were just as pale as the lieutenant had become, although now the kid looked about ready to faint. The man put an unusually thick envelope on the desk. The eldest of the officers, ruddy face now white as a sheet, smiled weakly. 

"T-Thanks a bunch mister. To what do we owe the honor?"

In a coldly rough and scathing voice, the stranger answered, gesturing towards the envelope, "Just paying a visit boys. Keep yer wives and sideliners happy with that."

The sergeants smiled warily, like birds or small rodents who gaze too long into the eyes of a snake. The lieutenant looked alarmed, and made his last mistake: "WHAT! Are you actually _on the_ _take? _What the fuck, boys?"

In a flash, the sword had left its sheath and slit the kid's throat neatly over the Adam's apple, sweeping over jugular, carotid artery, and windpipe. The look of alarm turned to wide-eyed animal hysteria as the boy's blood darkened his uniform. He attempted to stand, neck spurting a tribute to the downpour of rain on the street, but then crumpled back into his chair like so many rags. Lifeless. 

That voice asked with mock question,_ and amusement, _thought T-Bird, "Either of you two inclined to complain?" The two sergeants sat, very cowed, unmoving. One of them swallowed, nervously. From T-Bird's vantage point, the sergeant looked like he was sweating heavily. 

A moment later the bloodied body of the lieutenant fell over in its chair, and reddish black blood began to pool on the floor. The man knelt, gingerly wiped the blade off on the lieutenant's uniform, and returned it gracefully to its resting place. 

The man turned, and started off towards the only used cell where the residents now sat, gaping. He walked with a surprisingly light gait, eerily silent. T-Bird finally got a look at the stranger's face. It could have belonged to the Devil himself. Skeletal, and lean. Eyes reflecting a patient, but maniac gleam from dark hollows in his pale face. His dark hair-waist length and well kept so that it swayed- stemmed from a slight widow's peak that made him positively vampiric. A smile played about his face and eyes, but as he approached the cell it faded into a look of disgust. 

One of the pretty boys that had been looking T-Bird over earlier sidled up to the bars of the cell, catcalling in a saccharine sweet, come-hither tone. 

"Hey, baby. Nice job over there. That fucking pig deserved it. What you doin' here anyway? Lookin' for company or whatever?" He put his head up right against the bars, clutching them suggestively, and pushed his face in between them. He seemed oblivious to the look of predatory revulsion he received from the figure standing opposite him. 

"Just lookin' for new prospects." 

"Would I be one of those?" asked the fairy rapist sweetly. The man clasped one of the steel bars in his hand, and leaned into them slightly, as though reacting to the prisoner's interest.

Those eyes glimmered, and the stranger smiled wickedly.

"No." He hit the pretty boy full in the face, who staggered backwards, unconscious and nose a flattened mess, he fell to the floor. T-Bird couldn't help but smile.

The stranger proceeded to stalk slowly up and down the length of the cell, eyeing the residents, as though he were in fact the one caged. He watched the riff raff of the night patiently, with an almost paternal gaze. One by one they turned their eyes away, and he seemed to dismiss the muscle-bound and brainless thugs, dazed drug addicts and alcoholics, for what they were. T-Bird thought he read disappointment on the stranger's face. Then the stranger's eyes fell on T-Bird. He was adjacent the group of thugs-farthest away he could be from the exit/entrance of the jail cell, and T-Bird. There was some glint in the stranger's eyes that T-Bird didn't particularly like, and it seemed to him that the man flew the distance between them in three long strides. The man stood in front of the barred and locked door, arms crossed authoritatively. 

T-Bird met his gaze unflinchingly, the hollows of his eyes mirrors of the man's. Both knew the pains of psychosis. 

"You. C'mere." The stranger gestured for T-Bird to come forward. He did so, walking slowly. 

"Yeah, mister?" T-Bird halted a good four feet from the cell, not wishing to suffer the same fate as the pretty boy, or the lieutenant. He was wary, but altogether unafraid. 

"Closer", said that gravelly voice, in a cold command.

"No, mister. I ain't comin' no closer." 

The man chuckled hoarsely, grinning at T-Bird. He turned to the sergeants, still petrified in their seats. "This the one with the car?" T-Bird jerked his head to attention with such speed that his neck spasmed. _They know. _The thought flashed through his head like the blinding light of a nuclear explosion. He looked at the stranger with renewed interest, and a growing respect. 

"What are you in this shit heap for?"

"Depends on what you mean, mister. The city or the cell?"

"Either." 

"I'm just passing through the city. As for the cell, well…" T-Bird looked apprehensively at the two remaining police officers, sitting obediently at their post.

"Don't worry 'bout them. They're paid to not care, and not listen," he looked back at the young lieutenant's body, " and to clean up their own goddamned messes." 

"Intent to arson, I imagine."

"Any fucking fool can see that. Why are you _here_?"

"Old woman decided my head was a baseball, in her senility. I didn't get to go about my job all professional. She wasn't supposed to be awake." 

"So you light fires? You any good?" The man gave T-Bird a considering look, eyes glinting, face still.

I'll light you afire. See how good you think it is. 

"I suppose mister. I never compared myself to anybody. Ain't nobody around to be compared _with._ Where are you going with this, mister?" 

The man turned back to the officers. "Boys, how about you get this one out for me? Call it a purchase. His car around back?" One of them, the older of the two, nodded, and began to shuffle his feet towards the cell door, and the keys jingled in his shaking hand. _Happy heart attack, fatso, _thought T-Bird with glee. As keys rattled into lock, and the lock clanked into free man's position, the other prisoners, to T-Bird's surprise, were silent. _Scared shitless, bastards? Like I should probably be._

It became apparent that the man was familiar with the layout of the station, as he walked past the desk and proceeded down a shortcut to the back parking lot, accompanied by a curious T-Bird. The man looked at the sergeants. 

"Uhm…K-Key's in the ignition, boss," said one.

"Thanks," he looked at the lieutenant, and the pool of blood surrounding him on the floor. "Get a janitor in here, for fuck's sake."

"Sure thing, bossman," said the other.

As T-Bird walked outside through a back passageway with the man, he began to speak, "What are you about, mister? Eh?"

The man just smiled. They went through a double door, the same dingy white as the rest of the jail, and stepped out into the night. The thunder and lightening had subsided, but the rain was still pouring down. The humidity and pollution created bloody red and gold halos around the streetlights. The man didn't seem to mind getting wet this time. He and T-Bird walked out to the only car in the back parking lot. The only one that was packed with pyrotechnic goodies. 

"How about you work for me?"

"A man like's to know who he's working for."

"Top Dollar. That's me. I'm _the_ Authority in this town, or will be. Nothin' happens without my say so. If you hadn't noticed." 

"What the Hell kind of a handle is that?"

"Mine. So shut your trap."

"Depends on the job."

"Oh. Light a few fires, maybe even make a little profit in the long haul. It's important to enforce policy, you see. You'll be one of my…lieutenants."

T-Bird stopped dead in his tracks and wondered if he should make a run for it, fear in his eyes. Top Dollar, as he called himself, walked a few paces more, caught up in his own thought, stopped, and looked back at T-Bird. And suddenly began to laugh. Top Dollar tilted his head to the falling heavens and his laughter reverberated off the cement walls of the jail and surrounding buildings. Whereas some would have run, and probably died, T-Bird was reassured. He smiled, shakily. He watched as demon-eyed Top Dollar put his hands on his knees, and bent over-still laughing- to alleviate a stitch in his side, hair touching the pavement.

After a moment, he stood again , as cool and calm as before. They began to walk again. 

"Ain't no fires gonna be lit tonight", said T-Bird, examining the sky.

"No", said Top Dollar, "tonight we meet your crew. I have the soldiers, just no one to keep them in check. I've promised my boys they won't get bored. Your guns're in the car." 

And with that said , they had reached the car. They were both wet, but neither really cared. Top Dollar half walked, half-danced around to the passenger's side. T-Bird took the driver's seat, opened a beer, and Top Dollar used some of the cocaine stashed in the glove compartment. With that, they drove off to meet a few new prospects. 


End file.
